


Take Your Hand

by rory_the_dragon



Series: Miles And Miles [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Complicated Backstory, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Non-Fairytale AU, Peter POV, The Lost Boys Are A Gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Other mom. Henry has another mom. Two moms. Two undoubtedly terrifying women with Henry in their hearts. Of course. Because Peter’s life is just that ridiculous. Emma’s only just started to look at Peter like he isn’t going to rip her baby’s heart out of his chest and stamp it into the mud, and now there’s another one? </p><p>Great.</p><p>(Or: the one where Regina comes to Storybrooke.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set in the Miles and Miles universe; An all human, no fairytale universe which still takes place in Storybrooke. The Lost Boys are a gang. Peter and Henry are in an established relationship. Emma/Regina is mentioned, but they are not in a relationship.
> 
> Set after Take Me Home, Where To Go, Early Morning Sun, and before Seek You Out. I think. I'm going to have to sort out the timeline at some point.
> 
> Henry is 17 and Peter is 21.

 

Henry's... _subdued_ tonight, mind clearly elsewhere as they lie on Peter's couch, both pretending to watch a movie Peter can't even remember the name of let alone any plot. All of his attention has been on Henry, the perfect still way he's holding his body and the rhythmic _up, down_ of his thumbs against Peter's wrist. Peter's not even sure Henry realises he's been doing it.

With the hand not claimed by Henry's unconscious self-soothing, Peter clicks off the tv. Its sudden absence jars Henry enough that his thumb stops moving and he blinks for what has to be the first time in seven minutes. "You didn't have to do that."

Peter picks up the hand Henry now has resting, lax, against his wrist, twists it until he can thread their fingers together. "What's wrong, love?"

Peter doesn't know how to be soft, hasn't been able to let himself, but he thinks, in amongst the madness of it, the panic, the whitehot edge of it, it's impossible not to love Henry gently, at least a little.

Some of the tautness in Henry's spine eases. Not all of it, not even half, but enough that he sighs, a quiet exhalation of breath that Peter can hardly hear, and turns himself so he can bury his face in Peter's chest. He lies there for a few minutes, silent, fingers minutely contracting and relaxing in Peter's shirt, before he mumbles something into the fabric. "My mom's back in town."

"Your mom?"

Peter frowns. He can personally attest that Emma Swan has not set a single foot outside of Storybrooke. Not only is he certain that Henry would have _definitely_ brought up the fact that he had his house to himself, but his boys would have had a field day if the Sheriff took off for a few days. Peter might be dating her son, might have to behave a little bit more than he ever did before, but none of the other Lost Boys are.

"My other mom."

Other mom. Henry has another mom. Two moms. Two undoubtedly terrifying women with Henry in their hearts. Of course. Because Peter’s life is just that ridiculous. Emma’s only just started to look at Peter like he isn’t going to rip her baby’s heart out of his chest and stamp it into the mud, and now there’s another one?

Great.

But this isn’t about him right now. Henry’s still silent against him, obviously upset, so Peter lifts the hand they still have twisted together and presses a soft kiss to Henry’s fingers, a question. Henry sighs.

“Emma’s my birth mom,” He starts, voice still too small. “But when I was born she gave me up.”

Peter’s eyebrows leap up his forehead without his consent, shock punching him somewhere in his throat. Emma and Henry are _sickening_ together, a perfect family. Henry and his mom are best friends, and neither of them think there’s anything remotely weird about that. Not in a lifetime of being in Henry’s life would Peter have ever guessed there was something else there.

“I can’t tell you _why_ ,” Henry says, apologetic, and there’s the note in his voice he sometimes gets when talking about his mom, about her past before Storybrooke. Peter’s never asked because Henry won’t tell, but he suspects it’s something that he and his Lost Boys could use against Emma, and Henry’s not about to let that happen. “But she did. And my mom, my other mom, adopted me. Until I went out one day and found Emma.”

Peter huffs a laugh, fond. “Of course you did.”

But Henry’s not laughing. “I wasn’t very nice to my mom about it. I hurt her, hurt a lot of people, really.” His hand tightens in Peter’s shirt, scrapes at the skin underneath. “But eventually we came to an Arrangement. My mom’s company has a sister here in Storybrooke, so Emma and I moved to Storybrooke, and my mom, Regina, visits when she can. She works a lot, but she always tries.”

“So what’s wrong?” Peter asks when it becomes clear that Henry’s not about to continue.

“My moms have a...difficult relationship.” Yeah, Peter bets. It’s hard not to be possessive of Henry. “They fight constantly, try and make it seem like they aren’t for me, but I know. I’m the only thing they can agree on.”

Peter’s about to say something, he doesn’t know what, comforting has never been a strong point of his, when Henry barrels straight on. “And then they have hate sex in the kitchen.”

Peter chokes.

Henry looks up, and he almost looks amused. “I told you it was a difficult relationship.”

“You don’t say.”

Henry rests his head back against Peter’s chest, humming quietly. “I love them, and I love seeing Regina, but it’s hard to be around sometimes…”

Never one to miss an opportunity, Peter says, “You can stay here for a few days, if that would help?”

Henry laughs. “Nice try. I haven’t even told Regina about you yet, let alone that Emma lets me spend the night here.”

The 'yet' burns somewhere warm in Peter’s chest and he presses a kiss to the crown of Henry’s head, laughs when Henry swats at him. “Is there anything I can do?” He asks, because he can’t comfort, doesn’t know how to make his words soft, but he can act. He’d particularly enjoy being a good distraction, but it doesn’t seem like Henry’s in the mood right now.

“Yeah,” Henry lifts his head, tilting backwards to fully catch Peter’s eyes. “You could come to dinner.”

Oh no. No, no. Peter’s done this before, he’s sat through a meeting-the-parents dinner already, and every second of it had been awful. He's still surprised he didn't come away riddled with bullet-holes.

“I’d feel better with you there,” Henry says, and it’s so earnest, real, not even _trying_ to be manipulating, that Peter sighs, feels his resolve crumble away.

He ducks his head part of the way, lets Henry push up to meet him. It’s a short kiss, not leading into anything, just _there_. He groans. “Okay, kid, I’ll come.”

And Henry beams, as if everything that has been weighing down on his shoulders since he walked through the door has been lifted, and Peter’s the one who did it. Fuck. “It won’t be that bad.” Peter scoffs. “Okay, it might be, but I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter asks, shifts quick enough that Henry doesn’t see it coming until he’s beneath Peter, but he’s laughing again, which is all Peter really wants. “How?”

“I’ll let you blow me in the restaurant bathroom,” Henry says, and six months ago he wouldn’t even have been able to articulate that, let alone say it without blushing, _let alone_ say it with a salacious grin and a roll of his hips. Peter’s been an awful influence on the kid.

“You’re an awful tease,” Peter says, groans, because even if they could get away from the table together without drawing any suspicion, even if they could get the bathroom to themselves for long enough, even if they didn’t get caught and kicked out, there’s no way Henry would be comfortable with returning to both of his moms in that state. Henry’s never able to look anything but absolutely fucked out after an orgasm. It drives Peter insane.

“Maybe,” Henry concedes and lets himself be kissed, wraps his arms around Peter’s neck, his legs around his hips, clinging to him, and that’s how Peter knows how much Henry’s been worrying about this, how much he needs Peter to be there, to be there and be _good_.

“I’m not wearing a tie,” He mutters against Henry’s lips when they break apart.

“Shame,” Henry says, kisses him again. “Ties are good for lots of fun things.”

Death of him. Henry’s going to be the death of him. Henry laughs into the next kiss, bruising as Peter works to let him know exactly  _how much_ he likes that idea. But there's something in the back of his mind, not exactly nagging him, more like a pinprick he can't escape.

“Am I going as your boyfriend?” He asks, because he can’t help it. “Or as your friend?”

Henry frowns. “If I wanted a friend, I’d take Wendy. We’re not friends. I’ve never seen you as a friend.” And it would cut Peter to the bone if Henry didn’t continue speaking, voice painfully soft. “You’ve always been more.”

Peter has to kiss him, just to shut him up.

***

“I’m not late,” Peter insists into his phone, hears Henry huff on the other end. “I was exactly on time. It’s not my fault that there was nowhere to park.”

“Please tell me you’re not calling me from the car.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I’m walking up to the restaurant now. Look, I can see you.” He lifts a hand, sees Henry turn and look through the throng of people walking down the street. He’ll deny it to anyone who asks, but he speeds up just a little. “You’re alone.”

“They’re inside,” Henry says, hangs up and says the rest to Peter’s face. “Because you’re late.”

“Sorry, love.” He presses a kiss to Henry’s temple, hooks him under his arm, and Henry can’t be too mad at him because he wraps an arm around Peter’s waist. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Me either. Sure you don’t want to bail? There’s a burger joint down the road.” Henry jabs him in the ribs. “Ow. Kidding.”

The restaurant isn’t fancy, very few places in Storybrooke are, but it’s the nicest place they have, and Peter knows exactly why it’s been picked when he sees the woman sitting with Emma. She’s gorgeous, in the terrifying way that a forest fire is, and impeccably dressed. Peter’s wearing his nicest clothes, not that he’s going to admit that, and he really wishes he’d decided to wear that tie now.

“Mom,” Henry says when they get to the table, ducking out from under Peter’s arm. “This is Peter. Peter this is my mom, Regina.”

One look at Emma and Peter knows he’s getting no help from that corner. “Nice to meet you,” He says, holds out a hand, because he really doesn’t know what else to do here. Meeting Emma had been awful, but they’d already known each other, even if they’d hated each other. Regina is an unknown quantity, and Peter hates unknown quantities.

Regina stands and looks at him, doesn’t take his hand for a good five seconds. Her nails bite into his skin. She’s looking at Peter when she speaks, but it’s not to him. “This is him?”

“This is him,” Emma says, and every part of Peter goes cold as he thinks about the list of things Emma could have told Regina about him. “Sit down, boys.”

They sit. Each of them have their own side of the square table, and Peter’s seated next to Henry, which he’s ridiculously grateful for, and Emma. However, this means that Regina is opposite him, eyes trained coolly on him.

“How long have you been seeing my son?” She asks before they even order drinks, and Peter knows what the theme of the evening is going to be all over again. Prove to me you’re good enough for my son, the reprise.

“Nearly six months.” Henry reaches for his hand under the table, and he lets it be held, doesn’t look away from Regina.

“And you’re...how old?”

“Twenty one.”

Regina blinks, licks her lips in distaste and looks at Emma. “Twenty one.”

“Yes.” Emma says, and it’s not a defence, not of Peter at least, but she doesn’t look away until Regina does. Peter’s almost certain he’s been forgotten, how anyone can focus on anything else when they’re staring at someone like that, but Regina turns her attention back to him. Henry’s grasp on his hand tightens.

“My son is seventeen years old.” It isn’t a question, but Peter _burns_ to answer it.

He licks his lips, turns to Henry, and he can see the panic in Henry’s eyes, rubs a thumb across the back of his hand, and says, not looking at Regina, “Yes, he is.”

Because Peter’s never backed down from a fight in his life, and Regina is waging war.

Emma makes a choking sound that could be a laugh, and Henry’s eyes widen. Peter lifts their hands, presses a fast kiss to back of Henry's, then looks back to Regina. “Miss Mills, I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. I am Henry’s boyfriend, I intend to be for a long while. I am not a potential suitor. I _am_ dating your son. Do not think that you can scare me off.”

Peter’s known scarier things than Regina Mills, no matter how red the slash her lipstick.

“We’ll see,” Regina says, cold, and Peter gets it, okay? He gets wanting Henry all to himself, he especially gets being protective, because Henry has a littleboy heart that he’s given to Peter, like he doesn’t know what kind of person Peter is, and it’s all he can do somedays not to take Henry and shake him, tell him to be careful _don’t you realise there are people like me in this world?_

“Yes,” He agrees. “We will.”

Things don’t get much better from there. Just because Peter gets it, doesn’t mean he’s going to not match Regina’s every barb, every sharp glance or pointed question. Emma doesn’t take his side, but she doesn’t take Regina’s, either. She takes Henry’s side, just as they all do. Except for Henry, who takes everyone else’s.

It starts getting better when Peter decides, _fuck it_ , and focuses solely on Henry. Their chairs have grown inches closer throughout the meal, and maybe Peter would prefer to be anywhere else but at this meal - He’d especially prefer following through on Henry’s not-a-promise. On his knees in a bathroom stall gets more and more appealing as the night wears on - but pushing his knee against Henry’s and catching the small smile on his face, the blush at the tips of his ears, is almost worth it.

It’s interesting, certainly, seeing Henry like this, as a son and not just Henry, a rare sight, considering how much effort he and Emma put into avoiding each other for Henry’s sake. He’s different, just by a shade, and it’s like discovering a new world. Peter can see a Henry who played with legos and trains, read fairy tales, played at knights and heroes.

He sees Regina looking at him and meets her eyes. Maybe they’ll never get on. Peter doesn’t understand a woman who can stand to be away from Henry for so long, and she doesn’t approve of anything he is, but Henry loves them both and Peter knows what it’s like to be stupid grateful for that.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Henry says quietly, when they’ve offered to get Emma and Regina’s coats, suffered Emma’s amused look and Regina’s raised eyebrow before all but racing to be alone, just for a minute.

“Yes,” Peter agrees, smirking. “If you call a verbal execution _fun_.”

Henry sags. “You’re right. It was awful. I’m never going to stop owing you, am I?”

“Probably not,” Peter grins, takes the armful of coats off Henry and places them on the counter. He steps closer, lets Henry pull him in for a hug. “At least they weren’t fighting,” He offers, and Henry snorts.

“Only because Regina had her teeth in you and Emma was having too much fun watching.”

“True.”

Peter steps back, holds Henry’s face in his hand. He doesn’t say _I was happy to do it_ , doesn’t say _You don’t even have to ask anymore, don’t you see?_ because he thinks Henry gets it. Then, because he’s been good, but he’s not _that_ good, he kisses Henry, pushes him against the counter and holds him there with his hips.

Henry’s kiss is part apology, part hunger, and Peter laps it up. “You coming home with me tonight?”

Henry laughs, breathless. “Were you sitting in that dinner? The chances of Regina letting me walk away with you are _negative_.”

“I’ve worked with worse odds.”

“Boys,” comes from behind them, and Peter freezes, waiting for Henry’s reaction. But Henry’s biting his lip, sheepish and blushing, and Peter can’t help but grin. If he were ever under any illusions about not being wrapped around Henry’s little finger, this would shatter every one.

He steps back, tries to put distance between them, but Henry closes the gap, hooks their hands together even as Emma and Regina walk over.

“We came to see what was taking so long,” Emma starts.

“And now we see why,” Regina finishes, mouth moued like she’s smelt something bad. Peter resists smirking at her, but only just.

Henry hiccups, embarrassed.

Fuck. Peter’s going to have to have a long talk with his reputation, because he is _not_ becoming someone who is so head-over-heels that it’s tangible. He is not. He unequivocally _refuses_.

Who the fuck is he kidding?

“Sheriff, always a pleasure,” He says, smiling at Emma the way that always makes her eyes narrow, like she’s regretting ever letting Henry near him, because he really can’t help himself sometimes, and turns to Regina. “Miss Mills.” He nods.

“Peter.”

It’s not even anything close to acceptance, but it’s something.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Henry says, grabs their coats and pushes them both out before either Emma or Regina have something to say about it. Peter goes with it, because a pushy Henry is always fun to be around, and because he’s really enjoying the look on Regina’s face right now.

“I bet we could be halfway to mine before they even realise you’re not coming back,” He says, leans back against the cold metal of his car, pulls Henry in by his belt loops. “I could make you forget all about how awful that entire experience was.”

“Don’t,” Henry says, hands on Peter’s chest. “It’s too tempting. I’ve got to go home and listen to my mom question all my life choices.”

“My plans are more fun.”

Henry grins, quirks his eyebrows. “Maybe if you’d worn that tie...” Peter laughs and Henry catches it, leans up and presses their mouths together, surprising him. Always surprising him. “Thanks,” He says, pulling back, _achingly_ slow. And Peter wonders if it'll ever stop feeling like this, if every inch Henry pulls away will one day stop feeling like it's tugging at something coiling deep in Peter's chest. He can't imagine it. “For coming.”

Peter knocks their foreheads together. “Anytime.”

And means it.

 


End file.
